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Overview
From internationally bestselling author Anthony Horowitz comes the fourteenth thrilling installment of the Alex Rider series! Follow the world's greatest teen spy as he sets off to California to battle Nightshade once again—this time, for good.
When Alex Rider thwarted the plans of the criminal organization Nightshade, he knew he'd made a new, blatantly evil enemy. But he hadn't expected to get sucked back into the spy game so quickly—that is, until the Nightshade masterminds kidnap his best friend, forcing Alex to do their bidding if he ever wants to see his pal alive again.
As Alex dives deep into this latest mission, his friend isn't the only one whose life is on the line. Nightshade has entered the world of virtual reality gaming, and the lines between what's real and what's digital are being blurred everywhere. With a ruthless enemy fighting dirty and not caring who gets hurt along the way, the stakes have never been higher—and this time, it's personal.
The #1 New York Times and internationally bestselling Alex Rider series is back with a vengeance in this edge-of-your-seat adventure. Perfect for fans of James Bond and Jason Bourne!
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780593691397 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Penguin Young Readers Group |
| Publication date: | 01/16/2024 |
| Series: | Alex Rider Series , #14 |
| Pages: | 352 |
| Sales rank: | 28,382 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.40(w) x 8.30(h) x 1.30(d) |
| Lexile: | 740L (what's this?) |
| Age Range: | 10 - 12 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Alex threw down his skateboard, dropping it under his right foot while his other foot was already propelling him forward. It was a technique he’d practiced over and over again, but now, with all his thoughts focused on Tom, it had just happened automatically. He was moving before he knew it, rattling over the cobbles, sweeping around the corner next to the theater. Skateboarding is all about balance. The rider and the board have to be in perfect harmony, and that was exactly how Alex felt as he set off in pursuit. Weeks of practice at Southbank Undercroft and along the roads all around Chelsea had finally paid off. He was in total command.
A wide concrete ramp led up to the main road. Ahead of him, a bright red Honda Civic was just pulling away, and he heard the screech of its tires against the tarmac. That was what had made him notice the car. Why would anyone be driving so fast in an area full of pedestrians unless they were desperate to get away? He looked closer and saw someone half turn on the backseat. For a brief second he got a glimpse of a brightly colored shirt and spiky black hair. It was Tom!
But he was too late. The car was already speeding into the distance. Even as Alex watched, it reached the end of the road and, without signaling or pausing, swerved right. Alex made an instant calculation. It was lucky that he’d visited the area so often. He knew he couldn’t follow the Honda. By the time he reached the corner and made the turning, it would have disappeared from sight, and he might never be able to find it. But there were other ways. The road followed the bend of the river, but that was the long way around. If he stayed close to the river’s edge, he might be able to get in front. It was a gamble. The Honda could turn left or it could turn right, and if Alex made the wrong choice, that would be it. But what else could he do?
He swung around—a perfect kick turn—and pushed off the way he had come. Very quickly he reached the Embankment, with its smooth surface and complete absence of traffic. He knew he could move faster than the Honda. He just had to hope he was heading in the right direction.
He sped past the skate park, weaving his way through the crowd, desperately trying not to crash into anyone. Somebody shouted at him and he glanced around briefly. It was a distraction that lasted no more than a second, but when he looked back, he saw with dismay that he was heading straight for a woman pushing a stroller. Alex yelled out. There was no time to stop. He stamped down with his back foot, catching the tail of his skateboard and propelling the whole thing into the air. As the woman stared at him, he soared over the stroller, then crashed down on the other side. That was the ollie. He had never done it better.
And the maneuver had given him more acceleration. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dark green water of the river, two cruisers passing each other midstream. He shot past Festival Pier. Hungerford Bridge was just ahead, but Alex knew that it had been built for trains, not cars: there was no way the Honda could cross it. Who was he chasing? It was still a complete mystery. Why would anyone want to kidnap Tom unless it was to get at him?
There was a man walking an Alsatian dog on a leash, the two of them coming toward him. At the last moment, the Alsatian lunged at Alex, barking furiously. Alex bent low and used his heels to perform a carving turn, putting space between himself and the animal, but he still saw the glistening white of the dog’s teeth and heard its owner shouting at him. He ignored them both.
The giant Ferris wheel known as the London Eye was ahead of him. This was the bit that he was dreading most. There were already dozens of people waiting to take the ride, with more of them milling around the ticket shop and others lining up in front of an ice-cream van. Alex was forced to slow down. If he slammed into someone—a child, perhaps—he could hurt them badly. There was a large square park on his left, and he thought of making a detour across the grass and the play area, but right then he saw the red Honda. It was still traveling up the main road. He was even able to make out four people in the car: the driver, two passengers. And Tom.
They were driving him out of London, heading west. Alex had his cell phone in his back pocket. Should he stop and call the police? No. By the time he had made the call, the car would have disappeared; worse still, he had been unable to see the license plate. Even assuming he could make the police believe him, they would have nothing to follow.
He could still beat the people who had grabbed Tom. They were approaching the huge roundabout at the southern end of Westminster Bridge, and Alex knew that the traffic here always slowed down. He could get in front of them and cut them off. If necessary, he would simply skateboard across their path. They couldn’t just run him over! There were more CCTV cameras in London than any other European city, and if Tom’s kidnappers tried to drive away from an accident, they would be found and stopped within minutes. All Alex had to do was reach the bridge before them.
There were only about two or three hundred people in his way.
Bracing himself, Alex shot forward, his shoulders hunched, searching for the gaps between all the tourists and visitors. He heard voices shouting in several languages.A pair of hands reached out and tried to grab him. But he was moving so fast and with such determination that most of the people preferred just to get out of the way, and he was able to steer himself through the empty spaces that opened up in front of him. Even so, Alex misjudged one of the gaps, and his shoulder slammed into a man who had just bought an ice-cream cone. The man jerked forward, the ice cream leaping out of his hand as if in slow motion and splattering onto the pavement, where it was promptly eaten by another dog. Well, Alex thought, at least someone’s happy.
The London Eye was on his right, moving so slowly that it seemed to be standing still. There were long lines of people waiting on the two ramps. Alex flew past, swerving to avoid a man in a Union Jack blazer handing out leaflets for a hamburger bar. Did he really look as if he was in the mood for a hamburger? Now the London aquarium was on his left, and the crowds had thinned out. Westminster Bridge was directly in front of him, with a wide flight of steps leading up to it from the Embankment. Alex counted about twenty steps. Facing him, a stone lion on a pedestal seemed to be watching out for the red Honda, as if trying to help.
Alex came to a sudden stop, transferring his weight to his back foot and pressing down so that the tail of the skateboard came into contact with the ground. Tail-scraping was dangerous. It was an easy way to fall. But it was also fast. He popped the skateboard into his hand, and seconds later he was carrying it up the steps, taking them two at a time.
He was too late. With a sense of despair, he watched the red Honda flash past in front of him. At least he hadn’t lost it. The driver had turned right onto Westminster Bridge and was heading toward the center of town, with Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament on the other side of the river. With his heart pounding and his breath catching in his throat, Alex reached the top step and jumped back onto the skateboard. At the same time, he heard the sound of an approaching siren, and for a moment he wondered if the police had somehow learned about the kidnapping and were coming to his rescue. But as he joined the road and set off after the Honda, a single police car overtook him and then suddenly swung around at ninety degrees, blocking his way. It was Alex they were after! Someone must have reported a wild skateboarder endangering people’s lives on the South Bank. Two police officers got out of the car and held up their hands, signaling to him to stop. On the other side of the police car, the red Honda was getting away.
Alex wasn’t going to let that happen. He was almost halfway across the bridge. The skateboard was carrying him ever closer to the officers who were waiting for him to slow down—but at the last minute he carved right, then ollied up between two bollards, shooting back onto the sidewalk.
The way ahead was blocked!
It seemed as if the whole city was against him. A group of about thirty primary school children was heading toward him in two lines, escorted by two teachers. Alex couldn’t continue forward. The children weren’t going to step out of the way. But nor could he get back onto the road without delivering himself into the hands of the police.
He made an instant decision and ollied a second time, flying diagonally toward the very edge of the bridge as if he intended to hurl himself into the Thames. He had judged it perfectly. He actually landed on the handrail—with the wheels divided on either side. It was a move known as a fifty-fifty grind, and he’d done it many times. But not like this. Alex was horribly aware of the river, far below. If he lost his balance, he would plunge five or six yards into the water. If the impact didn’t kill him, he’d probably drown.
The very thought of it made him shudder, and the tiny movement almost finished him, tilting him into the air. Still grinding on the handrail, he fought for balance and somehow managed to find it. With both hands out, he steadied himself and prepared for the next move.
Alex could hear the aluminum trucks on the underside of his skateboard. They were the T-shaped pieces connected to his wheels, and they seemed to be crying out in protest. He glimpsed the two police officers staring at him in disbelief. The children were right next to him, chattering excitedly as he slid past. One of them had his phone out and was trying to take a picture. Alex was slowing down, losing momentum. Time to go. He leaned forward, then jumped back onto the pavement. He had made it! He had gotten past the crowd of children. The police were scrambling back into their car, but there was no way they could turn around quickly enough. By the time they came after him, he would be gone.
Even so, the maneuver had cost him time. The Honda was a long way in front of him, turning into Parliament Square. Alex passed through a set of traffic lights, with Big Ben looming above his left shoulder. Everywhere he looked, there were armed police officers on patrol. He knew that their job was to protect the politicians passing in and out of Parliament, but that didn’t make him feel any more comfortable. How many laws had he broken in the last few minutes?
There was a second set of traffic lights in front of him. As Alex approached, they turned red.
He went through anyway. It was too late to stop.
At the very last minute, he saw a black shape bearing down on him. A taxi had come out of nowhere. He couldn’t avoid it. It was too close. With a cry, Alex tried one last carving turn, his knees bent, his head low. The taxi filled his vision. He glimpsed the driver, twisting the steering wheel, trying to avoid him. The side of the vehicle hit his arm with tremendous force, and at the same moment, the front wheel of the skateboard slammed intothe curb. Alex was sent flying. The whole world corkscrewed around him, and for two or three seconds he was quite certain he was going to die. His last thought was:What will happen to Tom? Perhaps, if Alex was dead, he would be of no use to his kidnappers. Perhaps they’d let him go.
Alex crashed down, landing on his back.
The ground was soft.
Momentarily dazed, he wasn’t sure what had just happened. He opened his eyes and saw Winston Churchill, with hunched shoulders and a walking stick, looking away from Alex as if in disdain. He felt grass under his hands. Slowly, painfully, Alex lifted himself up. The skateboard had crashed into the curbside, and the momentum had sent him hurtling over the sidewalk and onto the green that covered the center of the square, close to the statue of the old prime minister. If he had landed on concrete or asphalt, he might have broken his back. He twisted around and saw that the skateboard was finished. The nose had smashed. The wheels were at right angles to each other.
He stood up. A few pedestrians were moving toward him. He saw police officers on the other side of the street. If he didn’t want to be arrested, he had to get away.
There was nothing more he could do. The red Honda carrying Tom Harris had disappeared.
